


Sauce

by AKO



Series: Detectives [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, Alpha Centauri - Freeform, BS/DS, Drug Smuggling, Hospitalization, Hurt Kirk, Hurt Spock, M/M, T'hy'la, emergency department, ferengis, illegal drugs, melding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-02 02:11:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16777555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKO/pseuds/AKO
Summary: Takes place immediately following Investigate.  Detective Kirk and Detective Spock have caught another case, and Alpha Centauri needs to watch out for this duo!As usual, I have TOS in my head when I write these stories. But they also work for Abramsverse.





	1. Date

**Author's Note:**

> Starts with their first "date," and then they catch a case!

Kirk let Spock in. After kicking off his boots inside the front door, Spock walked over to the dining table and set down a large bag. “This is the order with your name from the take out establishment.”

Kirk grinned. “I can smell it! Don’t worry, that place serves only Vegan Chinese take-out, and I’m a regular customer, so they know what not to put in my food. You’ve never had Chinese?”

“I tried some dish served at the Starfleet Academy mess hall labeled as ‘Chinese.’ Other than that, nothing else.”

“That doesn’t count. Sit down! Tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Kirk returned from the replicator with their drinks, and sat in the chair opposite Spock. He pulled several square cartons from the bag, and two sets of chopsticks. He handed one set to Spock. “Chinese personal eating utensils.”

Spock raised one eyebrow and unwrapped the packet. He immediately gripped them correctly in his right hand.

“You’ve used them before?” Kirk asked.

“Negative. However, there is a Vulcan serving instrument that is very similar, only with three units instead of two.”

“You’re a pro, then.” Kirk opened each carton, and announced the contents. “Kung Pao. Chop Suey. Lo Mein noodles.” He frowned over one container, and stirred the contents, taking a bite. “Maybe Moo Goo.”

Spock used his chopsticks and pulled an object from one carton. “I thought you said these were Vegan dishes.”

“They are.”

“This looks suspiciously like meat.”

Kirk stood, leaned over the carton in question, and pulled a strip of meat-appearing product out with his chopsticks and stuck it in his mouth. “Fake meat. It’s called seitan, made with wheat protein. It looks and feels and even has the texture of meat, some devout Vegans won’t touch it. Sometimes called ‘wheat-meat.’” He chewed, then swallowed. “It’s okay, honest.”

“Which containers are mine?”

Kirk laughed. “All of ‘em! That’s the fun of Chinese take-out, Spock. Everyone gets a bite of everything!”

“Doesn’t sound sanitary.”

Kirk sat down in his chair, and pulled the Kung Pao in front of him. “I’m not contagious, are you?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Then eat!”

They both settled down to a congenial meal. After most of the food had been consumed, Spock enjoyed his tea and Kirk got a refill of his beverage. “Now you can say you’ve had Chinese. Honestly, though, this probably has very little in common with actual food consumed in China by ethnic Chinese peoples, but it’s a traditional take-out food on Earth. And it’s very easy to find as a completely Vegetarian meal.”

“Thank you for expanding my culinary range, Jim.”

“Let’s go watch the movie!”

Sitting on an overstuffed couch with a throw pillow between them, Kirk used the minipadd to set up his entertainment center so they could watch “Forbidden Planet.”

“You need to completely stand down the analytical portion of your brain. This is entertainment, and considered to be one of the first, if not _the_ first movie ever made in the science fiction genre. A classic!” He reached over and patted the hand that Spock had placed on the sofa next to the throw pillow separating them.

If Kirk didn’t remove his hand after the gesture, neither one mentioned it.

Kirk leaned back so his head rested completely on the couch behind him, and smiled. He’d seen the movie dozens of times before, and he simply allowed himself to enjoy the archaic representation of outer space travel.

Despite the numerous questions compiling in his brain, Spock kept silent and labeled the entertainment as “quaint.” His main focus was the hand-to-hand contact between him and Kirk.

That, he classified as “nice.”

By the time the credits rolled up the screen, Kirk was sound asleep. He had slumped over towards the throw pillow, and the top of his head was against Spock’s shoulder. With the corner of his mouth quirking upwards, Spock gently disengaged contact and eased Kirk’s legs up onto the couch, then covered him with the afghan that was draped across the back. He shut down the entertainment system, stored the leftovers in the stasis box, and put on his boots. After dimming the lights, he silently exited the front door and engaged the security.

So ended their first “date.”

The next morning, Kirk was ringing Spock’s door chime. Spock opened the door immediately. “Good morning, Jim. Please enter.”

“Early start today. I’ve got our new orders.”

“Indeed.”

Kirk exhaled. “We seem to attract the excrement assignments. Ferengis pushing Sauce.”

For a brief moment, Spock looked like he had something extremely disgusting-tasting in his mouth. He mentally wiped his expression to the Vulcan deadpan. “Our destination?”

“Spacedock. Custom sniffers caught a small shipment. It’s been thoroughly wiped, but there are enough DNA traces to show Ferengi.”

“We start the investigation there, then.”

“Yup. Let’s head out.”

And they were on the way.


	2. Drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys dress up, and go out to investigate!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fact-finding mission. Spock and Kirk were at a drinking establishment in one of the major hotels on Alpha Centauri. Spock was scheduled to meet with an acquaintance, Kirk planned to sit at the bar and join in any conversation around him.

Kirk scowled as he sat on the stool. Spock was meeting with Droxine. Kirk had been on a training cruise when he was in the Academy when the ship got pulled to make an emergency transport of Zenite. Spock had accompanied the cruise as the Xenolinguistics instructor, so he was part of the landing party who negotiated with the government for the shipment. Kirk was a cadet on the same landing party, and he’d watched the Lady Droxine glom onto Spock as soon as she feasted her “work of art” eyes on him.

That whole mission had been a disaster. After Spock and Kirk began working together in Starfleet Criminal Investigation Division, Kirk mentioned that aside from living in the clouds, Droxine seemed to keep a quantity of them between her ears.

Spock had almost smiled in response.

The planet Ardana had been exhausted of Zenite, and the miners found work elsewhere. The Stratos elite lived off their accumulated riches, and still considered themselves to be the superior of everyone, everywhere. The work of Droxine afforded their lifestyle and their delusional thinking. She had taken over the investments, and insured the profits would always be enough to sustain Stratos.

Guaranteed high return on investments only came from illegal means. Spock was specifically interested in any connection to illegal drugs. Droxine had kept in touch with Spock since their introduction years ago, and he accepted her invitation to meet for drinks.

Spock was a clotheshorse. A fashion plate. In an earlier age, he’d be called a popinjay.

The Vulcan must have had a closet the size of Pluto.

He looked like he had stepped right out of the Eighteenth Century, perhaps at a tavern for a bit of refreshment after signing the Declaration of Independence. For all the ruffles and foppery, though, he exuded waves of masculinity. Every woman in the room had to control her fingers from twitching to undo the many buttons on his clothes.

Let’s be honest here: Spock could wear burlap and look incredible.

His eyes scanned the room, and he located Droxine seated at a microscopic two-top table. Two long strides and he reached the chair opposite her. “Lady Droxine,” he said, with a small head bow.

She smiled. “Mister Spock, please join me.”

Droxine depended on her beauty: it was her calling card. She wore a dress constructed of a cloud-like fabric, containing wisps which managed to cover her enough so the garment would not be considered obscene. Spock’s appearance so eclipsed hers that she could have worn a trench coat instead.

Spock clearly wanted the upper hand in their meeting, and she had to concede it.

A server approached once Spock was seated. “White wine sangria for the lady, I shall have yuzu juice.”

“Very good, Sir.”

As the server departed, Droxine smiled at Spock and said, “You remembered.”

“Of course.”

Kirk’s closet wasn’t as large as Spock’s, but he had his share of distinguished clothing. Tonight’s foray found him dressed in buckskin. He wore a fringed vest—no shirt—that fit him like he was born with it on, and had matching knee high fringed moccasins on his feet. Ubiquitous blue jeans completed his ensemble

Totally Kirk.

The bartender slid a heavy glass mug of beer in front of him, and he drank.

“Are the Stratos investments thriving, Lady Droxine?” Spock queried.

She waved a hand. “Better than they had under my father’s direction. Since his passing, I have been in complete control, and I have my own ideas.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, I venture towards more risk. Greater risk, greater return. And my profits have benefitted our people greatly. They continue to live the privileged life to which they are naturally entitled.”

In the background, Spock could hear Kirk muffling a cough.

“Do you finance new settlements, exploration, scientific development?”

“Oh, gracious no. The return on those is so dismal! Our major money goes to marketing time-shares. People continue to buy into those, the fools! Lately, though, I’ve been looking into laboratories.” She pronounced the last word in the British way.

Spock sipped at his juice and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Kirk tuned out the conversation. Spock was getting to the “meat” of the matter. He drained his mug and tapped it on the counter, signaling the bartender.

“Another?”

“Yep. I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks, and I’m gonna get my fill of beer tonight.”

“Where ya from?”

“Every place. I’m a shipworker on a freighter, we haul everything. But it’s policy to run a dry ship, so I have to quench my thirst when we dock.”

“Good policy.”

“It is, but I thought I’d never get my beer today, the ship ahead of us was held up by Customs.”

The bartender passed Kirk his refill, then scrubbed at the counter with a rag. “Aw, man, I feel for ya! What did they find?”

“Scuttlebutt said sniffers located Sauce.”

“GODS, I hate that stuff!”

“It’s bad news, all right.”

The place wasn’t very busy, so the bartender settled in to chat. “I have a personal vendetta against it. My brother-in-law was destroyed by Sauce.”

“Aw, man, I’m so sorry.”

“You couldn’t find a nicer guy than Blake. Adored his kids, worshipped my sister. They were great together. Who knows how he found the Sauce.”

Kirk nodded as he drank his beer.

“Blake functioned for a long time, you know how it is,” the bartender went on. “He still worked, paid his bills, came home—and then did absolutely nothing. Didn’t go anywhere, didn’t do anything, didn’t play with the kids, just didn’t care. And while the bills got paid, any little extra went straight to Sauce.”

“Yeah, that’s how it works. So sad.”

“Tragic! My sister tried to keep everything together, but Blake was _absent_ , ya know? She tried everything, and he just plodded on. By the time the kids were almost out of school, they made her leave him. After she left, he gave up, dived straight to the bottom of the vat, and got Pickled.” The bartender used the term for end-stage Sauce addicts who keep upping their intake until they overdose on the drug.

“That’s awful, Pal. I’m so sorry for your sister and her kids.”

The bartender shook his head. “Want another beer?”

“Naw, I’m good. You hear of any new Sauce in this area?”

The man laughed with no mirth, as he picked up an empty bottle. “This is my drug of choice. I don’t keep tabs on illegals.”

“Oh, I got ya. I’ll keep my beer, thank you very much. I just wondered if we were gonna have to look over any new shipworkers a bit more carefully in these parts.”

“Nothing around here about new Sauce.”

Kirk paid his tab, and slipped a business card into the credits. “You hear anything, give me a comm. Let’s keep that shit outta here.”

The bartender slipped the card into a pocket without looking at it. “I’ll let you know.”

It was a good contact.

Spock and Droxine stood at their tiny table. Spock had clasped his hands behind his back to avoid any contact with her. She was known to be a bit grabby. The tiny smile on her face acknowledged his tactic, and she bade him a farewell that wasn’t as fond as she wanted it to be. A nod, and he said, “I thank you for the pleasure of your company, my lady.”

“Good night, Spock,” said she of the clouds as she floated from the room.

The two dissimilar men coincidentally departed together. In the doorway, Kirk muttered, “Need something for a headache, Spock?”

“A potion to quell my nausea would be more welcome, Jim.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

“I’ll drive, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to me, today! Chocolate covered boozy cherries for all readers!


	3. Briefing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda dull, sorry. This chapter explains exactly what 'Sauce' is.

Spock had called a meeting of the investigators at a briefing room in the Alpha Centauri central morgue. McCoy had his first Sauce OD, and it was time to circle the wagons.

Spock strode authoritatively to the front of the room. He was dressed “business casual” today: tailored slim black slacks, long-sleeved, black button down shirt tucked in, first three buttons undone. Kirk was dressed in his standard tight white T-shirt and blue jeans.

The group sat in chairs with their padds at the ready, waiting to take notes. McCoy wore scrubs, and stood at the back of the room.

“We shall begin.” Spock had that delicious speaking voice. When he spoke in front of a class or a briefing room, everyone hung on each single word. “A new supply of the illicit pharmaceutical known by the street name ‘Sauce’ has been identified here on Alpha Centauri. Unconfirmed reports say this is being managed by a Ferengi group. We are asking that any Sauce discovered during the work of Starfleet Criminal Investigation Division be reported to either Detective Kirk or myself, so it can be traced.

“To review: Sauce is a manufactured chemical designed only to be an illegal drug. It has never had a legitimate medical use, and never will. Sauce is a combination of two powerful components: a synthetic amphetamine and a synthetic opioid. The ratio has been adjusted over the ages to optimal effectiveness, meaning it was designed to be physically addictive yet leaves the user able to marginally function in society once the dependence is established. Typically, Sauce users become addicted shortly after being introduced to the drug, and then they coast along for several years, working and living adequately to support themselves and pay for a supply of the addictive.

“This is the insidious nature of the substance: the users are not incapacitated by the addiction. They suffer the illusion that ‘all is normal,’ and continue to be a constant consumer. In the meantime, they do not notice their quality of life dwindles to the point where they are barely existing. This period of stability can last anywhere from 2 to 20 Standard years, and then the individuals will go into a downward spiral of increased consumption leading to complete destruction of their place in society, until their eventual demise.

“We have found this alleged Ferengi Sauce to be of a slightly different ratio of amphetamine to opioid. This may significantly impact our expected projection of Sauce consumption; that is not known at this time. Be aware there could be changes. Some factors remain the same: Sauce has to be mixed with a liquid. It is too caustic to use in the powder form, so the mid-level dealers hydrate it and package it in disposable single-use tubes. The users apply it to the skin, and the effects are experienced within minutes. The application sites are stained from the liquid, and the stains resemble bruising. Favored application areas are typically underneath clothing, although end stage users will paint themselves on any skin surface.”

Spock looked to the back of the room. “Doctor McCoy?”

Fatigue showed as McCoy walked to the front of the room and stood beside Spock. He held up a clear evidence bag and pointed to the object contained within it. “This is the applicator of the new batch. It looks very similar to all the other applicators we’ve seen in the past. The buyer breaks a tiny tube within the packet, and then can squeeze the liquid to the pad, where it liquid is then painted on the skin. Traces inside this applicator are showing red, but again, it simply looks like bruising after it is applied. Try not to get any on yourselves if you run across it. It really is nasty stuff. Handle the applicators at the bottom, opposite the pad, and it goes without saying, do not squeeze the tube containing the liquid. Those things are so fragile they rupture if you look at them cross-eyed. Report to a medical facility or a medvan if you do end up getting any on you. They have neutralizer…but seriously, People, by the time you can get to the neutralizer, you’re already dosed.

“Final word: get this shit outta here, please.” McCoy then stomped out the door.

“Unless there are any questions, this meeting is concluded.”

After everyone else had left, Kirk walked over to the room replicator and got tea for Spock, coffee for himself. The two of them sat down and spent a reflective moment enjoying their drinks. Soon, their lives would become a raucous turmoil, and this brief calm before the storm was welcome.

“Did you find out anything from Droxine?”

“She is in on it.”

“Figured as much. I overheard her mention something about ‘Ferengi’ and it was a coincidence that appeared at the right time.” Kirk shook his head. “She targets the easy money investments, I take it.”

“Oh, yes. She is ‘entitled,’ as she sees it.”

“I think the bartender will give me a heads-up if he hears anything. He lost a brother-in-law to Sauce and he hates the stuff.”

“All we can do is wait, now.”

“Damn. I was hoping for another movie night soon. And I would concentrate on not falling asleep!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mocha latte to wake you up after such a boring chapter. More excitement next chapter, I promise!
> 
> (In honor of my birthday, two chapters today!)


	4. Information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting interesting now!

Shortly after the briefing was concluded, Kirk received word from the detention center that a CI of his was in custody and “wanted to talk.”

“All he wants is twenty credits and a ‘Get out of Jail Free’ card. I’m sure he knows nothing of value, but let’s check it out anyway.”

“What type of card is that?”

“Oh, Lord, Spock, you never played Monopoly? You poor, deprived Vulcan! Maybe instead of movie night, we’ll have Monopoly night. But I’d have to invite a few more people over to play, since it’s not as much fun with just two.”

Spock answered with two raised eyebrows.

Kirk laughed. “It’s a board game, Spock. You buy and sell real estate. Very capitalistic. And the later it gets, the more fun it is to play. Especially if alcohol is involved.”

“I must admit, I am curious now.”

Kirk jabbed Spock with his elbow. “We’ll set it up some weekend. Here’s an early hint: buy Boardwalk and Park Place.” He laughed harder, and punched the buzzer to summon the detention sentry. “Detectives Kirk and Spock to see client John Gill,” he told the intercom box. Kirk made a face at Spock. “Calling these guys clients is just _wrong_ , you know?”

The weasel was waiting in a cramped, windowless room, cuffed to the table which was bolted to the floor. Two chairs sat opposite the prisoner’s seat, and Kirk walked over to kick one. The atmosphere was stuffy with the sour smell of sweat and other body secretions nobody wanted to identify.

“What do you want, Gill? I hate this stinkin’ place, don’t waste my time.”

“Hey, Kirk, nobody likes it here,” the man whined.

“And yet you guys keep coming back. I’ll never figure that one out!”

“I got some good info.”

“Mine is better, Gill. Quit fucking up, and stay out of this hole!”

“C’mon, Kirk, we’re buddies.”

“No.” Kirk looked at Spock and winked. “I choose better than your kind for my friends.” He slammed his hands flat on the tabletop and looked John Gill in the eye. “You and I have a very tenuous working relationship. Now start talking, or I’m gone.”

“There’s new Sauce on-planet.”

“And…?”

“Just got here. Word has it that Ferengis brought it.”

“You’re boring me, John.”

“Your _old friend_ , Gary Mitchell, is in on it.”

“Let me get a bar of soap for your mouth, John. You’re talking shit. I have no ‘old friends’ by that name.”

The man at the table shrugged. “Some asshole calling himself Gary Mitchell is claiming he went to the Academy with the great James T Kirk.”

“Hey, I can say the President of the Federation came to my fifth grade birthday party, too. Doesn’t mean anything.”

The man started whining again. “C’mon, Kirk. Have a little pity, huh? I give good info. Gimme a break, okay?”

“See you ‘round, Gill.” Kirk slammed out of the room, Spock right behind him. Kirk told Spock, “Let’s go to Booking.”

Gill had been picked up on a D&D from a bar sweep. Kirk told the clerk, “If he’s done his time in the drunk tank, go ahead and spring him, and give him ten credits. Send the voucher to me. And do me a favor, huh?”

“What’s that, Detective?”

“Dump him on the opposite side of the planet? I don’t want to see his ugly face for a while!”

The clerk chuckled and keyed the computer. “I’ll have him on a relay shuttle. He’ll wake up under a tree six or seven time zones from here.”

Oh their way out the door, Kirk laughed, “I owe you one!”

Out in the parking structure, Kirk walked past their aircar and began to pace. Spock knew this mood, and he merely waited. The name must have meant something to Kirk, and after he vented his frustration with the exertion, he’d be back to tell Spock what was going on in his head.

Kirk paced for quite a while. Finally, he looked over to Spock and nodded, and they both got in the aircar. Kirk didn’t start it up; instead he rested his forehead on the steering apparatus. “I know who Gary Mitchell is.”

“I assumed as much from your behavior.”

The corner of Kirk’s mouth quirked upwards. “That obvious? Anyway, he was my roommate at the Academy for a couple of semesters. We ended up more than roommates. I cared more than I should have. Gary broke it off, and asked for different quarters. After that, he got caught in some cheating business—and it was literally a _business_ , the guys were selling answer keys—and was kicked out. Later on, I heard he was drugging and dealing to pay for it.”

“You have had no association with him since?”

“None. You can check. I was investigated inside-out before Intelligence would touch me. They knew my relationship with Gary, they knew when he moved out, they knew when he joined with the others to set up the cheating, they probably had the address of his supplier once he started with the drugs. And they knew I was clean of all that.”

Spock touched his arm. “Then Jim, there is no problem. Especially with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chocolate popcorn to all readers. Nice, tidy snack, a treat to munch on while I entertain your mind!


	5. Acquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Detectives Kirk and Spock begin to lay the trap.

Kirk and Spock were both dressed in black biking leathers as they walked into the dingy shop. “You sure this is okay, so soon after the court appearance?” Kirk muttered to his partner.

“It will be _fine_ , Jim.”

A bald, greasy-appearing obese man walked to the door, a phony smile stretched across his face. “Let me welcome you to our fine establishment today, Gentlemen. Cyrano Jones at your service. How may I help you?”

Kirk flashed his sexy smile. “I’m Bright.” He batted his eyelashes a few times. “Bright Side. This is my partner, Dark Side. You can call him DS.”

Jones brought his fingertips together over his massive stomach. “Welcome, welcome, welcome. What can I do for you, Mister Side and Mister Side?”

Kirk smiled even bigger. “Just Bright. And call him DS.” Kirk stuck his hands in his pockets, and started to wander around the shop.

Spock drilled his dark eyes into the proprietor. “I have comm units to sell on consignment. Top of the line. You get a substantial percentage.”

“Ahhhh….yes, well, we do consignments occasionally, um…er…DS. But I must ask, are these units hot?”

Spock growled.

Kirk whirled around, and scurried back to Spock’s side. “Oh, our merchandise is always, _always_ clean. And completely untraceable.” He winked at Spock, and smiled at Jones.

“I see, I see. Why this particular…arrangement, then?”

Spock curled his lip, and looked over Jones’s shoulder. “We have an excessive…bribe to be paid.”

Kirk giggled, and went back to wandering around the shop. He began poking at some of the electronics.

“Oh, no, no, no, mustn’t touch!” Jones moved quickly for one his size, and he reached out to grab Kirk’s sleeve.

Spock was behind him in an instant. “My bitch. Hands off. NOW.”

The heavy-set man yanked his hand away, as if touching a hot stove. “Oooh, so sorry, so sorry. But I have very _delicate_ merchandise here…”

“Tell him,” Spock growled at Kirk.

“The units we have are clean and completely untraceable because of me.” He batted those long eyelashes again, and pulled a small, very thin instrument from an inside pocket of his jacket. He bounced the end off Jones’s nose and giggled. “My eraser. I made it myself.”

Jones reached up to grab it. Spock snatched his hand in midair, and squeezed. Jones screamed. Spock raised an eyebrow, and kept squeezing. He let go when the man collapsed to the floor.

Kirk leaned over and smiled, while dangling the instrument. “Naughty Mister Jones! The eraser removes the serial number, replaces with a new, clean ID, and scanners recognize the new ID as completely legit. _My_ eraser!” He tucked it back into the inside pocket and began perusing the shop again.

Jones heaved to his feet, and addressed Spock. “Comm units, you say?”

“Fifteen hundred. If you wish, I can provide 250 servers programmed to link to those comms.”

Spock and Kirk could practically see the credit signs dancing over Jones’s head.

“My goodness, and when can they be delivered here?”

“Immediately. Price them to sell quickly: the faster the units move, the greater your percentage.”

“Oh, I think we can do wonderful business together, Mister….er…excuse me, DS.”

Spock locked his hands behind his back so the man wouldn’t try to shake on the deal. He called to Kirk, “Bright?”

“Right here, DS.”

“You have a dock in the rear of this establishment, Mister Jones?”

“A back door, actually.”

Spock sighed. “Get help unloading. We only deliver. We’ll return at 1300 today. If no one meets us in the back at that time, I’ll find another business.”

“No worries, no worries!”

Taking no leave, Kirk and Spock left immediately.

Out in the aircar, Kirk waved the “eraser.” He laughed easily and said, “ _Mine!_ ”

“A charming, highly illegal tool. And nicely customized to our needs as well.” Spock raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“Yeah, the serial numbers will melt, like the VINs. Ain’t technology grand?”

“Now, we wait for the Ferengis to make a deal with Jones. Did you disable the other electronics in the shop?”

“Oh, yeahhhh. Little miscellaneous meltings, fritzes, and disconnects, noting traceable, nothing drastic, just enough to make sure Jones moves only our units. And I’m sure somebody will soak him nicely for the repairs.”

The corner of Spock’s mouth turned up, just a tiny, tiny bit. “Indeed.”

“So _handy_ that the Ferengis are driven to search for a bargain!”

“Rules of Acquisition: Three, ten and sixteen. Oh, yes, the Ferengi will absolutely buy our units.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a recipe today for fudge...with chopped up Reese's Peanut Butter cups folded in the mix. *holds out pan of fudge*


	6. Bait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyrano Jones is hooked!

Kirk and Spock showed up at 1300 at the back door of Cyrano Jones’s “Emporium” with the decrepit hover truck used in the airbike delivery. Jones stood at the open door, scowling at the vehicle.

He fluttered his fingertips in front of his huge abdomen as Spock approached. “DS…er…Sir…how can a reputable businessman drive such a horrible vehicle? Don’t you care about making an impression?”

Spock looked down his nose towards Jones. “It has never been stolen.” He clicked a remote, and the rear door opened to reveal a cargo area cram packed with comm units and servers. “Take care of it,” he ordered Jones, and walked back to the cab of the truck.

Kirk flashed his blinding smile at the laborers. One of them smiled back, and made a move towards him. Jones got flustered. “Oh, no, no, no, you must not disturb Mister Bright. No, that won’t do at all. Unload the truck, unload the truck.”

“Jones, it’s Bright. Just Bright.” Kirk fluttered his eyelashes a bit.

Spock was immediately at Kirk’s side, and glared at the potential interloper. “Mine!” he snarled. “Touch him, and I shall yank out your arm and beat you with the bloody end of it.”

The man cowered back into the building, and the other laborers double-timed to get the job done. Once the truck was empty, Spock nodded to Kirk, who returned to the cab. He raised an eyebrow at Jones and stated, “I will contact you in two days to arrange for my proceeds.”

The truck gasped and wheezed and creaked as it pulled away.

“I’m sure Jones will do some extremely creative accounting, and you’d see damn little money from all that. If you were really getting paid, that is.” Kirk looked at Spock out of the corner of his eye, and smiled.

“I dislike paying bribes, anyway. They are an ineffective way of doing business.”

They hadn’t traveled but two blocks from the establishment before Spock’s padd beeped. A second beep followed, and then it was beeping like a pinball machine marathon. He keyed in a few taps, and the noise stopped. “The Ferengis must be in the same building as Jones. Each beep was a comm unit being activated.”

“Paydirt already? I haven’t even hit the skyway!”

“The servers should be transmitting shortly. Ah, yes, there is the first one. And the accounts are now being set up.” Several taps later, Spock turned to Kirk. “The financial investigators have begun. We will know all the investors the Ferengis have arranged….Oh!” The last exclamation was accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

“You have a hit already?”

Spock nodded very slowly. “Fascinating. I certainly did not expect her to do that.”

Kirk laughed. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Droxine. She is apparently the first client established on the server, and from the quantity of funds she has invested, she might be their biggest … I believe the colloquial term is ‘pigeon.’ To obtain that much, she most likely liquidated all of the funds from Stratos.”

“All? The cloud dwellers are gonna be _broke_?”

“It is quite likely.”

Kirk really began to laugh, and banged on the steering apparatus with his fist. “Oh, that is priceless! All those privileged, snotty people are gonna have to find jobs!”

“Indeed.”

“I can just see Droxine as a gum-chomping waitress in some Spacedock diner!”

Spock coughed. “Jim. You have exceeded all previous attempts in trying to make me express mirth.”

“It _was_ pretty good, wasn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German chocolate brownies.
> 
> And thank you for reading!


	7. Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anxious times ahead!

It was time to dig out the magnificent leather coat and the wicked stiletto boots. Kirk was back in the livery uniform. And they were at a bar, but not a nice one. The kind where you are constantly scraping the bottom of your shoes, trying not to identify what you just stepped in.

The Ferengis were holding court in the very back corner. Spock glided forward, in a regal fashion. All conversation came to a complete halt. Many, many jaws dropped to the very unsanitary floor.

Kirk stayed unobtrusively towards the center of the crowd. This was Spock’s show, and he was merely a prop.

An incredibly good looking prop, but still…a prop.

The Ferengis stopped laughing and jabbing each other and swilling drinks to glance towards Spock. Finally, the apparent leader scowled at him and said, “What do you want, Vul-can?” The word was separated into two distinct syllables and dripped with disdain.

“I want in.”

The group erupted in gales of laughter. The leader waved to the bartender. “Take out the trash. And don’t forget this Vul-can!”

The other bar patrons backed away, slowly, from both the Ferengi table and from Spock. While the Ferengi were insulting, Spock was terrifying. The betting individuals were making bank on bloodshed, and nobody was placing odds on it being green.

Spock placed his hands flat on the tabletop, and leaned over. His eyebrows had descended into the depths of fury, and his eyes flashed fire. His voice seemed to reverberate through the teeth and bones of all listeners. “You are on _my planet_. MINE. You have not asked permission. You have made no overtures of respect. Let me say it just one more time for complete clarification: I. Want. In.”

As the conflagration died down to a small inferno, the patrons began to move restlessly. Some looked around, and realized something was wrong.

Kirk was gone!

One of the Ferengi was bold enough to speak directly to Spock. “Some operation you have here, Vul-can. Your pet Hu-man just snuck out to make his own deal with our distributor.”

Spock spun around to see that Kirk had indeed left. He turned back so quickly to the Ferengi that he was a blur. With one arm, he swept all their accouterments off the table, to crash against the filthy floor. Then he flipped the table. “You _will_ tell me the name of the person with whom he left.” He grabbed the leader by the shirtfront and picked him up to dangle at arm’s length. “Speak!”

“Bluh-Duh-Guh…” the man stuttered.

“His name, or I will pin you by the ears to the ceiling!”

“Gary Mitchell!”

He threw the man back into his chair, and it tipped over backwards. “I am not finished with any of you,” he snarled, and then sped out the door.

# # #

They were in the parking structure. Mitchell smiled at Kirk. “Glad to see me again, Lover?”

“Not really.”

“You’ve changed so much, Jimmy, if now you are willing to be the boytoy of a Vulcan Dom.”

Kirk rolled his eyes.

“Oh, no, no, no…see, that’s where you’re wrong, Jimmy Boy. While you have changed, I’ve only gotten better, much better at what I do. No more penny-ante stuff for me. Nah, Gary Mitchell is big time now.”

“Distributing Sauce.”

Mitchell smiled, but it was all predator. “Very good.” He swung an arm around Kirk’s shoulders. “We did click, Jim, you and me. In fact, I bet you are still in love with me. And because you do care, I want to give you a chance to join me in my enterprise.” With his other hand, he slapped Kirk on the chest a few times. “What do you say, Lover? Let’s hook up for work and play together. You do remember how good we were.”

“No, thanks,” Kirk said, as he ducked out under Mitchell’s arm. “I have better taste now. And I already have a job.”

# # #

Once outside the bar, Spock realized he would not be able to maneuver effectively on foot wearing the boots. He pulled a knife from the pocket of his coat and slit the lengths of the footwear, and threw them to the side. Then listening for conversation, he stealthily approached the area where Kirk and Mitchell were talking.

“I’m not stupid, Jim,” Mitchell answered. “I know you’re a cop. And you can’t stop this business. The ball is already rolling, there’s a shitload of money to be made. “ He reached out to grab Kirk.

Kirk neatly sidestepped, and they danced around each other, feinting, jabbing, punching, avoiding. Spock circled back behind Mitchell, unobserved.

Mitchell got his moment, and swung towards Kirk’s face. Kirk was recovering his balance from the previous parry, and fully expected a jaw-crunching blow. Instead, it felt like Mitchell had simply brushed his fingers from Kirk’s temple to jaw.

“What?”

Mitchell growled, “You’re Sauced, Jimmy.” Stunned, Kirk stumbled back a few steps, and Mitchell again stroked his face, this time on the opposite side. “You’re so Sauced, you’re slopped.”

Spock’s coat was just a smudge in Mitchell’s peripheral vision, but he reacted to the threat. He pulled a small weapon from his pocket, and aimed it directly at Kirk’s chest. “Come any closer, I’ll kill him.”

Spock responded by taking a flying dive towards Kirk, while swinging up his weapons arm to fire his phaser at Mitchell’s head.

An instant before the target exploded like an overripe melon, Mitchell had fired off one shot. Kirk had been knocked safely to the floor of the parking structure, and Spock caught the projectile in the center of his own chest.

Kirk was trying desperately to focus. The world was spinning around him and he was tongue-tied. By concentrating and talking slowly, deliberately, the words formed correctly and he uttered, “Spock! You okay?”

“Somewhat.”

Kirk rolled Spock to his back, and saw the small round hole in the black leather. A tiny trickle of green dribbled out from it. “Oh, Gods, Spock. Don’t you dare die on me!” Kirk managed to reach to his back pocket for his comm unit, and pulled out a handful of busted plastic and liquid crystal goo. “SHIT!”

Spock struggled to pull his comm unit from a coat pocket. Kirk reached out for it, and missed. Then he giggled. “Oh, he got me bad. I’m flying from this Sauce.” He finally grabbed the unit and scolded himself. “Stop! Spock’s hurt, gotta take care of him!”

“Jim. Focus.”

“Right. Right.” Kirk keyed in the emergency code. “Officers down. Officers down!” And then he started giggling again.”

“Dispatch. Repeat your message. Identify.”

A long-fingered hand clamped around Kirk’s wrist. “Jim. Please. It was a pea-shooter, I’m bleeding internally.”

“Officers down! Detectives Kirk and Spock, locate our signal and emergency transport to the hospital!” He choked back a sob, and looked at Spock. “What can I do for you?”

“Pressure.”

Kirk stupidly looked at the hole in Spock again, and then stuck his index finger in it. “The little Dutch boy,” he whispered.

“Signal breaking up, cannot find you, retransmit.”

“Officers down, he’s DYING, Goddammit! Echo locate, triangulate from last known position, send out a Saint Bernard, I don’t CARE, just get us out of here! Tell the hospital he’s Vulcan!”

“Searching…”

Spock stretched out a shaking hand to Kirk’s face. “Meld…need your strength…”

“Spock, Baby, I’m completely SAUCED. I can’t even help myself right this minute!”

“Just…please…Jim…”

The green-streaked fingers met Kirk’s psi-points, and in a reflex move, Kirk’s free hand touched Spock in a mirror caress.

_//Jim.//_

_//OHGAWD, Spock, I’m right here.//_

_//Jim. T’hy’la.//_

The transporter sparkled around the two of them, and they materialized in the nearest trauma hospital’s Emergency Department.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death by Chocolate ice cream sundae for all readers


	8. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys are gonna be okay! Whew!

Okay, so Kirk was straddling Spock, his right index finger buried to the max deep into Spock’s chest; his left hand rested on the psi points of Spock’s face. Spock’s left hand gripped Jim’s psi points, like a drowning man hangs onto a scrap of driftwood. They materialized on a gurney in the Emergency Department, and immediately a crowd of people began buzzing around them.

A tall, dark-skinned man took charge, and spoke with authority. “Do not separate them. I want monitors applied to the Vulcan, IVs plugged into him, and cross-match him for at least six units of blood. _Now!_ ” The crowd started running like their collective pants were on fire. The man approached the two and leaned over, so he was between their faces, and spoke softly.

“You are safe. Remember that: you are safe. I am Doctor M’Benga, I trained on Vulcan. _Ek’man_. _Ek’man_.” He placed each of his hands over the fingers of both Kirk and Spock, above the psi points. “I must separate you now. Safe. _Ek’man_.” Gently, oh, so gently, he pulled them apart. Both gasped; Kirk shook his head violently. He lost his balance, and M’Benga pulled him back into place. “Careful,” he ordered. “Do NOT dislodge your finger.”

“Pea-shooter,” Spock mumbled.

“Say again?”

“Pea-shooter,” he uttered, and then lapsed into unconsciousness.

“Can you talk now?” M’Benga looked at Kirk.

Kirk’s eyes were twitching and spinning. “Kinda.”

“Breaking the meld is rough, I know. But please, tell me what you can.”

“Help Spock. My partner. He was hit, I was so scared. He said we had to meld, he needed my strength.”

M’Benga put a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “And you gave it to him. You also plugged his wound, you saved his life. The weapon was a pea-shooter?”

“Yes, a drug distributor. He’s dead.” Kirk started shaking.

“Get me a blanket out of the warmer!” M’Benga called to one of the technicians. He glanced at Spock’s wound. “If this is a pea-shooter, I gotta call in McCoy.”

“ _He’s not dead yet, dammit!_ ” Kirk screamed.

M’Benga patted Kirk’s shoulder, after he spread the warmed blanket over his body. “No. No. I’m sorry, no. McCoy is a specialist in the specific damage that weapon causes, we’ll be able to fix your partner with his help. I take it you know Doctor McCoy?”

“We’re cops,” Kirk whispered.

While waiting for McCoy to arrive, the gurney holding Spock and Kirk was taken to Imaging, so scans could be made showing the projectile and the damage it had caused. M’Benga was adamant that Kirk’s finger had to remain in the wound or Spock would bleed out. The Imaging techs were none too happy making accommodations to the unorthodox request, but Kirk roused himself enough to tell them to “suck it up.”

Back in the Emergency Department, McCoy waited with M’Benga. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Jim, you get yourself in some horrible predicaments!” He stopped his rant, and grabbed Kirk’s chin. Pulling up on it, he looked carefully at Kirk’s face in the light, turning it one way and then another. “Has this man been treated?”

“What do you mean?”

McCoy squeezed his eyes shut, and muttered under his breath. “Does ANYONE read the announcements, or do I just send them out to be used as so much toilet paper? This guy has been Sauced. Look at the marks on his face?”

“I thought they’d been in some altercation…”

McCoy stomped over to a drug cart, keyed in his passcode, and yanked a drawer open so hard it dumped on the floor and spilled. He pulled on a pair of gloves and grabbed several packets, violently tearing them in half. Taking the medicated pads out of the packets, he scrubbed the markings on Kirk’s face, making the man yelp.

“It’s too late, I know, but I might keep the residuals from being absorbed. Dammit, dammit, dammit!” Throwing the used pads on the floor, he yelled, “Get a portable cortical monitor on this guy, and hook him up to a five gallon jug of normal saline!”

McCoy gently held Kirk’s face, and tried to look him in the eyes. He saw the positive nystagmus, and McCoy huffed that his symptomology had been so blatantly missed. “Jimmy. Who Sauced you?”

“Gary,” Kirk blurted out. “Then he tried to shoot me, but Spock took it.”

“He used the pea-shooter?”

“Yeah.”

The doctor stared at the ceiling until his temper settled down. Then he gazed at his friend with affection. “Youre okay, Buddy. We’ll fix Spock, you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Bones. So tired.” Kirk collapsed on Spock’s chest, and tried to remove his finger.

“No, no, no, have to keep it there until we take Spock to surgery. We don’t want to dislodge any clots. You’ve done such a good job, Buddy, just a bit longer now.”

“Okay, Bones.”

McCoy grabbed a nurse and said, “You are his personal monitoring drone. Watch the saline drip, keep track of his I/O, and if his heart rate or breathing changes AT ALL, I am to be notified immediately.”

“I’m the Floor Supervisor, I’ll get somebody…”

“No, YOU.”

M’Benga looked over McCoy’s shoulder. “You’re it, until he says differently.”

McCoy pulled M’Benga aside. “Got the scans?”

“Just now.”

“Jim got about six doses of Sauce--he was assaulted. I know I was way too late with the neutralizer, but I had to do something. I can’t give him Narcan or Amphan without knowing the titer in his blood, so he’ll have to just wait it out, and we pray he doesn’t go into cardiac arrest or central nervous collapse.”

“Saucing is a particularly vicious assault, and you just don’t see many pea-shooters anywhere.”

“Geoff. Those two cops are Starfleet Criminal Investigation Division elite. They only go after the very, very, _very_ bad guys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot cocoa (dark chocolate!) with chocolate boozy whipped cream on top!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spock has surgery.

Spock was in surgery with M’Benga and McCoy. Kirk was terrorizing the Emergency Department and driving his poor drone crazy. No, he did not want to lie down on a biobed. No, he wouldn’t sit in a chair to be monitored. No, he would NOT piss in a bottle. He’d use the head like a grown-up; if they needed to know the volume of his urine, figure it out some other way. All he could really do was pace with the IV stand and bitch.

“Detective, you must settle down, your heart rate and blood pressure are climbing. Walk slower and calm your thoughts.”

“Spock could be dying!”

The nurse stood in his path. “You will sit down now and slow your breathing. I will breathe with you.” She steered him to a chair, and her voice softened. “You’re worried about your friend. But having your brains explode all over the ceiling won’t do him any good now, right? That drug is winding you up. Don’t let the drug win, Detective!”

Kirk nodded, and sat. The nurse crouched in front of him, held his hands, and showed him how to control his respiration. She explained by doing that one thing, he could settle his pulse rate and his blood pressure, and override the drug’s effect on himself. His entire body visibly relaxed.

“Much better! Keep the slow breathing, I will get some warmed cloths and we can clean you up a bit.” After wiping off Spock’s green blood, Kirk calmed even more. “I checked, surgery is just finishing up. Your friend is doing well. He’ll be moved to Recovery in about an hour. How about you stretch out on a cot in the On-Call room? It’s dark and quiet in there. I will come get you when he’s moved, how’s that?”

“That works. I apologize, I’m just so scared.”

“Scared and Sauced. Bad combination.”

“What’s your name?”

“Christine.” She smiled.

The corner of Kirk’s mouth quirked up. “I’m Jim. Chris, Honey, I love you madly, but my heart’s given to another. Otherwise I’d marry you and have your babies.”

The nurse gently maneuvered Kirk onto the cot and covered him with a light blanket. “Nicest proposal I’ve had all day. Try to sleep, and I’ll be back for you in about an hour.”

“You got it.”

# # #

He was pale, oh, so pale, almost the same color as the sheets on the bed. His eyes were sunken and closed and his breathing was barely noticeable. Kirk sat in a chair next to Spock, and when McCoy walked over and stood across from the bed, Kirk’s heart rate jumped alarmingly, and the cortical monitor flashed and buzzed. McCoy scowled.

“Jim! Stop it! Spock is doing well!”

“It was a reflexive action, Bones. He LOOKS dead, and then you came in…”

“I know, Buddy, I’m sorry. But seriously, he came through the surgery like a champ.”

M’Benga entered the room and stood next to McCoy. “Detective Spock is in a Vulcan healing trance. He’s actually directing his body to optimal recovery.”

“How long will he be out of it?” Kirk looked directly at M’Benga when he asked the question.

“Unknown. There was quite a bit of damage, and of course he lost a lot of blood. But the surgery was extremely successful, it went much better than we had anticipated. I would say the trance will be less than a Standard week. And he isn’t truly ‘out of it.’ He is aware of everything around him, he even knows you are holding his hand.”

“Good! I want him to know I’m here for him.”

M’Benga nodded.

“What do you know about pea-shooters, Jim?” McCoy asked.

“Not much. Illegal as shit, very rare, horrendously expensive on the black market, one-use only, disposable, and lethal.”

“Yeah, that about covers it. It’s an up-close assassination weapon, and if Mitchell would have gotten you, you’d be on my slab. It’s made for a heart shot. The propellant is a small globe filled with dry ice or comparable substance, and it’s actually smaller than a pea.” McCoy frowned. “About the size of a caper, I’d say.”

“Oh, Doctor, I’ve seen some pretty big capers. I’ve had Chicken Piccata…”

“True, Geoff. Okay, not a caper, but bigger than a mustard seed…”

“ _Bones, dammit_!”

McCoy chuckled. “Sorry, Jim. Anyway, this little globe is loaded behind a projectile, and when the weapon is fired, a pin pierces the globe and the expanding gas propels the projectile. It’s quiet, compared to most weapons, and only good for a short-range shot. The projectile is the nasty part.”

M’Benga winced.

“I’ve heard it’s a type of dart,” Kirk interjected.

“Ehhh…calling it a dart is being rather wussy. Once the thing pierces the flesh, it has little arms in the point that deploy, and they are sharper than any razor. And the damned thing spins, too. So once inside the body, it turns everything into hamburger.”

“Mush,” M’Benga said. “More like mush than hamburger.”

“Since Vulcan physiology puts the heart down on the lower right side, Spock got some chewed up lung tissue in your place.”

Grief shattered Kirk’s features, and he put his head down on the bed next to Spock.

“Jim…Spock will be okay. The lung tissue will regenerate. His biggest threat was bleeding out, but when you stuck your finger inside the wound, you corked him up until we could get him to surgery.”

Kirk had tears smeared all over his cheeks when he raised his head to look at McCoy. “He’s really gonna be fine?”

“Yes. I’ll let you stay here with him for a little while longer, and then, Buddy, you’ve got to get some rest. And I’m sorry, but you have to stay in the hospital with the monitor, until the Sauce is completely out of your system. M’Benga has a room assigned to you, you can take a shower, get some food inside you, and then hopefully sleep for a few hours.”

“Do I have to keep this damned IV?”

“Sorry, but yes. It’s diluting the Sauce and helping it pass from your body. You do everything I said, and I’ll let you visit Spock for ten minutes every hour, until you’re discharged. Deal?”

“Yeah, we got a deal. Doctor M’Benga, Bones, _thank you_ for taking care of Spock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for continuing to follow this story! I have an evil concoction called "Chocolate Lasagna" for all readers!!


	10. Mad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McCoy has a tantrum!

Two suits with dark glasses—Egad, how stereotypical!—marched into the Emergency Department like they owned the place. One hooked the arm of the nearest employee.

Big mistake. He managed to grab onto Christine Chapel.

“Hands OFF, Buster, or I’ll call Security and have you arrested.”

“I’m a cop, Lady.”

“Fine by me. Cops can be charged with assault and battery. And I absolutely will press charges unless you: Let. Go. Now.”

The man dropped her arm.

She wasn’t finished. “I just know you are rolling your eyes behind those shades. Say what you want to say, and then get the fuck out of here. We have sick people who need our care.”

“Jesus Christ, Lady, you’re a bitchy one!”

Chapel smiled as she stuck her hand into her pocket. All the doors closed automatically and locked. An alarm buzzed over the intercom, and an electronic announcement played: “Security to Emergency Department. Security to Emergency Department. Code Green.”

McCoy and M’Benga ran into the main room from an adjoining office.

“What’s going on, Christine?” M’Benga asked.

She nodded at the two suits. “Troublemakers.”

M’Benga squared his shoulders and stared down his nose. “I’m Doctor Geoffrey M’Benga, Chief of Emergency Services in this hospital. Why are you here?”

The one who grabbed Chapel pulled out a leather wallet and flipped it open. “Internal Affairs, Starfleet Criminal Investigation Services. You have two detectives here and they must be interviewed now.”

“No can do. Both of them are patients under my care, and they are in no shape to participate in an interview of any kind.”

Two huge Tellarites appeared in Security uniforms. “What’s the problem, Miss Chapel?”

“Resi, Gonin, thank you for arriving in such a timely fashion! These two gentlemen do not need Emergency services, and they are leaving.”

“Now wait a minute, here! This is a Federal investigation, and you cannot interfere! A phaser was discharged by a Starfleet Criminal Investigation Division employee, and the entire event must be investigated to find if the discharge was done in a lawful manner.”

“It was,” drawled McCoy.

The speaker whipped off his dark sunglasses and glared at McCoy. “Look, Pal. I’m getting tired of all this interference. This whole investigation has to be ‘by the book,’ and I can’t take the word of just any Tom, Dick or Nobody.”

“Stand down now and cool your jets. My name is Leonard H McCoy, and I just so happen to be the Chief of Staff for Federation Coroner Services here on Alpha Centauri. I’ll match my GS rating against yours any day of the week. I’m a certified forensic investigator; hell, I probably taught the damn classes you took for your certification!”

The loudmouth suit turned white and sort of curled in towards himself. “Ulp.”

“Yeah, ulp. I’ve heard the story of the incident from both of the detectives involved, and I’ve seen their injuries. I was able to patch together a likely scenario and the discharge of the phaser was justified. The guy who got shot is dead, right?”

“Yessir.”

“I bet he’s on the slab now, waiting for me to autopsy. I hope your evidence team has swept the incident area with a microbroom. My DNA testing of the dead guy will probably show him to be one Gary Mitchell, a piece of shit involved in everything but pimping his grandmother—and he may have done that, as well. Mister Mitchell assaulted Detective Kirk with what I estimate to be six doses of Sauce, and I hope to Hell you have kept up with all the announcements my office sends to you people! He then fired a pea-shooter at Detective Kirk, who was knocked down by his partner, Detective Spock. Spock took the shot to his chest, and Doctor M’Benga and I spend several hours in surgery saving Spock’s life. Are you taking notes? I don’t want to have to go through all this shit again, because you weren’t paying attention. According to Kirk, Detective Spock got off a phaser shot to the head of Gary Mitchell.”

Suit Number Two was furiously pecking away at his datapadd, while his bossy partner stood, still white-faced, but now with his jaw dropped to the floor.

McCoy was definitely in a snotty mood. “Any questions?”

The two looked at each other and shook their heads. The one who did the speaking glanced back at the doctor and said, “Uh, no.”

“Fine. Kirk will probably call in tomorrow, after he’s discharged.” McCoy turned to the Tellerites. “Show them the door, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double chocolate cheesecake! (calorie-free, of course!)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. Spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kirk is discharged from the hospital, Spock is on the mend!

Christine Chapel brought a bundle into Kirk’s room. “Leonard McCoy dropped these off in the Emergency Department, so I’m making a special delivery.”

“Oh, thank heavens! I thought I’d end up wearing an indecent hospital gown home today!”

“We would have taken pictures of that. We have before!”

“I still love you madly, but you’re evil, you know.”

“It’s a required course. I maxed it.”

Kirk smiled his megawatt grin. “I don’t doubt that at all. “ He lowered his voice in a conspiratorial way. “Can I ask a favor?”

Chapel leaned against the door frame. “Who do you want me to kill? It’s extra, you know.”

“Nahhh,” Kirk said, with a dismissive wave. “I handle my own killings. Right now, I _desperately_ need a cup of coffee, _please!_ ”

She hissed through her teeth. “Tough one. You’ve just come down from the equivalent of six-months’ worth of coffee. Your nerves are still pretty strung out.”

Kirk whimpered.

Chapel laughed. “Look, I’m a fellow coffee-hound, and I sympathize. I’ll see what I can do, but under no circumstances are you to tell either McCoy or M’Benga about this. And if you collapse and die after drinking the coffee, I will coldly step over your body and act like I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“Deal!”

After receiving a meager half-cup of caffeine, Kirk wept real tears of gratitude, and then pulled on his street clothes. Leonard McCoy himself came to the room to handle the discharge.

“Please, Warden, I’ll be good, I promise! Let me go, and I’ll never darken the doors of this prison again!”

“Eh, knock off the theatrics.” McCoy sniffed the air in the room. “Do I smell coffee?”

“You’re just saying that torture me, right? All I’ve had is chicken soup and lime Jell-o.”

McCoy stared Kirk down. “Yeah, right. Okay, I’ll sign you out, but you are now on convalescent leave, for at least a week. The half-life of the synthetic opioid is about twelve hours, so most of it should be gone from your system by now. Drink lots of water to flush out the last of it. Don’t take anything stronger than an aspirin for ehhh, six or seven days. Your biggest problem is that damned amphetamine. That stuff leaves residuals that can take a while to eliminate. It’s possible you might experience a side effect known as ‘Sparking.’ It’s unpleasant as Hell, but usually benign. It will eventually pass.”

“I’ll bite. What is ‘Sparking?’”

“Minute, neurological events.” McCoy scowled. “Twitches, jerking, spasms, burning, all kinds of fun stuff. They don’t last even a full second, but they are very distracting. That’s why I want you on convo leave. You don’t need to be spazzing or twitching while questioning a suspect.”

“Well, shit. How long will this last?”

“A week, maybe two. Hard to tell.”

“ _Longer?_ ”

“Jim, you had a helluva dose of that stuff. I really can’t say.”

“Son of a _bitch!_ ”

“Yeah. Let’s go see Spock.”

# # #

Kirk walked into Spock’s hospital room, and melted. “Oh, Spock!” It hurt him to see the strong, vibrant, compelling person laid out like a corpse on a bier. His coloring had improved with the transfusions, but the absolute immobility was forefront.

He sat in the bedside chair and grasped the pale, long-fingered hand. McCoy stood next to him, hand on his shoulder. “He’s actually doing better than we expected. I’ve got to get back to work, but M’Benga is on his way here to update you. Take care, Jimmy-boy, and I’ll see you soon.”

Kirk never took his eyes off Spock. “Thanks, Bones, for everything.” And he squeezed the pale fingers and watched the infinitesimal rise and fall of Spock’s chest.

“Good afternoon, Detective, “ Doctor M’Benga announced as he walked in the room. “Your partner is looking quite well today.”

“If you say so.”

“Oh, I do. He’s still in the healing trance, of course, but I do not expect that to last more than another twenty-four hours. Once he awakens, I doubt we’ll be able to keep him hospitalized for much longer, although I’d like to keep him under observation for several more days.”

“Wow!”

“Indeed. The biggest problem is that he cannot go home alone. If he has nobody to stay with him, we’ll have to make arrangements to transport him to Vulcan, or discharge him to a rehabilitation center.”

“No, no, no. No way. He’ll come to my place.”

“Detective…”

“Doctor. McCoy has placed me on convalescent leave, and I’ll be around to make sure he doesn’t fall out of bed or run with scissors, or whatever. He’s my partner, I’ll take care of it.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Absolutely.”

“Detective Spock’s biggest concern will be the regeneration of lung tissue. He could possibly experience periods of extreme shortness of breath, and if it doesn’t resolve itself almost immediately, help must be summoned.”

“Whatever he needs, I’ll see to it. Let’s just focus on getting him well.”

“Okay, then, I’ll leave you to your visit, and we’ll finalize everything when he’s ready for discharge.”

“Thank you, Doctor M’Benga, for all your help.”

“No problem.” The doctor walked from the room, and Kirk continued to sit, holding Spock’s hand.

Down the hall, McCoy waited. M’Benga walked up to him and said, “It worked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody told me that M&Ms now come in a Pumpkin Spice flavor! Guess what I've got for my readers!


	12. Convalesce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, they're getting better! Boo, if they don't kill each other first!

Spock was actually scowling. He had been transported by medivan to Kirk’s apartment, and was now practically immobilized in bed, surrounded by breather equipment, monitoring devices, and enough potions and pills to strangle half the population of Alpha Centauri. He had every pillow in the house bunched up behind his back, and Kirk was presently in the kitchen putting together something called a “Breakfast Tray.”

This was an extremely bad idea. Spock would have been able to tolerate a week or two at a Rehabilitation Facility. He was Vulcan. The logic of accepting trained, professional care in his currently debilitated state was simple. Kirk, however, would hear none of it. He seemed to think that the two of them could “help” each other during this shared convalescence leave.

Spock recalled an old saying that mentioned “blind leading the blind,” and thought it to be particularly apt.

“Ready or not, here I come!” Kirk sing-songed from the kitchen. Spock did a very un-Vulcan eyeroll.

As Kirk passed through the bedroom doorway, Spock watched him juggle the biggest bedtray ever created, and it was heaped high with enough foodstuffs to feed an army. Kirk was a young, strong, muscular man, and yet he struggled with load. Gingerly, he walked to Spock’s side of the bed, trying to make casual conversation. “I got this neatest tray on Amazon-Bay! It has a built-in warmer plate, and self-leveling legs, and a compartment for silverware, and…”

Kirk’s expression blanked, and he stopped talking mid-sentence. His arms jerked open, and the loaded tray fell to the floor with a discordant crash while splattering numerous foods and beverages in huge, messy arcs. Spock sat up, horrified, and tried to reach out to Kirk.

His effort was in vain, because then he coughed and choked, and fell back onto the pillows gasping and waving his hands in the air.

Kirk recovered first, and stepped over the mess on the floor to reach the bed, where he kneeled on each side of Spock’s thighs and grasped his friend’s shoulders. “Don’t fight it, Spock. Just try to breathe slowly, relax, one breath at a time, easy, easy, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

The crisis passed, and Spock finally took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Kirk collapsed in relief on Spock’s body, then rolled over onto his back on the unoccupied side of the bed. He covered his eyes with his arm and muttered, “Well, shit.”

“Agreed,” wheezed Spock.

“Welcome to the Kirk and Spock ‘House of the Totally Fucked Up, But Still Completely Awesome.’”

“Jim this is not going to work.”

Kirk rolled towards Spock, and propped his head up on one elbow. “Yeah, it will. We’ll make it work. You okay now?’

“Yes. But it was a very frightening moment.”

“M’Benga said it would be. Something about the new lung tissue having to inflate for the very first time.”

“Thank you for tending to me. You handled everything in an appropriate manner. Once I achieved calmness, the restricted breathing eased.”

Kirk smiled, and placed his free hand on Spock’s arm.

Spock covered Kirk’s hand with his opposite one, and gripped tightly. “Explain your episode.”

Kirk winced. “Bones called it Sparking. The amphetamine apparently leaves residuals in the brain, causing the connections to misfire, or something like that. It should all be cleared out in a week, maybe two.”

James, it is very disturbing to watch. It truly looks like a seizure of some kind.”

Rolling onto his back again, yet not releasing Spock’s arm, Kirk stared at the ceiling. “Yeah, I know. I had a couple of them before you got here, and I scared the bejeezus out of myself.”

“James Kirk, you are not sleeping on the couch.”

“You aren’t sleeping on the couch, either!”

“No. Obviously we both need to be monitored, so it is logical for us to share this bed. It is a big bed, Jim, it will accommodate both of us.”

“Spock, you’re proposing _to sleep with me_?” Kirk laughed like a loon.

One eyebrow. “I am not contagious. Are you?”

“Oh, very funny.” Kirk yawned. “GAWDS, I’m beat. I need to snooze for just a bit, then I’ll clean up the mess and fix us some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

“That is satisfactory.”

“You’ve got _all_ the pillows!” Kirk whined.

Spock pulled one out of the pile and smacked Kirk in the head with it. “Silence! I wish to rest at this time as well.”

Kirk grinned, tucked the pillow under his head and rolled away from Spock. Soon, he was snoring lightly. Spock allowed himself the ghost of a smile as he also closed his eyes and slipped into a restorative state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sallted pretzel caramel brownies! No, I'm NOT kidding!


	13. Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keep thinking this will wind up in one or two more chapters, but my Muse keeps dropping this stuff off at my doorstep! Where the Muse goes, we all must follow!

The next morning, Spock announced he wished to take a shower. Kirk agreed to allow him his privacy, but only after preparing the bathroom first. There had to be towels, soaps, gels, shampoos, bath mats, no-skid rugs, a scrub brush, and even a rubber ducky. It was a shower, but still, the rubber ducky was mandatory, according to Kirk. A fluffy robe hung on the back of the door, and Kirk pronounced the facilities were accommodating.

He stationed himself at Spock’s elbow as soon as Spock’s feet hit the floor. “Really, Jim, I _can_ walk,” Spock insisted.

“Just let me do this, okay?”

If Spock rolled his eyes any more, they’d unscrew themselves from his optic nerves and pop out of his head.

Kirk let himself out of the bathroom, but only after looking over his shoulder to see Spock disrobe safely and enter the shower cubicle. He left the door ajar, and stuck his ear at the opening.

All he heard were normal, shower-taking sounds, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Until the thump.

Kirk smacked the door and forced it open all the way. “Spock! Are you all right?”

Spock peeked out into the bathroom. “I merely dropped the …”

Kirk had gone completely stiff, and began to jerk and quiver over his entire body. After several of the longest seconds since the beginning of the Universe, he completely relaxed to collapse on the floor.

Spock dripped all over the floor, to crouch at Kirk’s side. “Jim! Jim!”

Kirk finally roused, but was groggy and confused. “Why are you in my bathroom, wearing only a towel?”

“You Sparked again.”

“Huh?”

“Jim. You’ve been ill from a drug overdose.”

“Oh, the Sauce. Oh…OH! Spock, are you okay?”

“I am fine, Jim. How are you feeling?”

Kirk sat up awkwardly, and glanced down. He dipped his head and blushed. “I pissed myself.”

“Then you should take the shower, and I shall go get dressed.” Spock had Jim stripped of his soiled clothes and in the shower before he could register the change in positions.

Soon, Jim returned to the bedroom wearing the robe he had intended for Spock to use. Spock was wearing clean lounge pants, a T-shirt, and sandals.

“Are you feeling better now?” Spock asked Jim.

“Somewhat, but I have a nasty headache now.”

“Sit on the edge of the bed, and I shall return with analgesics and juice.”

“I’m supposed to be taking care of _you_!” Kirk complained.

“We are taking care of each other.”

Juice and aspirin consumed, the two sat on the bed and talked. “That looked to be the worst episode of Sparking that I have observed.”

“It was. I’ve never had one that bad. Spock, it scares me.”

“I am sure the experience is quite frightening.”

“What am I gonna do if it doesn’t go away? Or if it gets worse?”

“The disorder is treatable. But before considering it to be permanent, it would be best to wait the prescribed period of time, to see if it resolves itself on its own.”

“I can’t help but think I’ll be like this forever. I won’t be able to do the things I want to do. My whole life will have to change. And I’m scared, just plain, flat-out scared.”

“Jim, I have my own health concerns at this time, and I view them with trepidation. Such a reaction is normal.”

“You’re healing though, Spock, you’re getting _better_. Your body is making new lung tissue, and you just need to learn how to breathe with it.” Kirk put both of his hands on his head. “How am I going to live with a fucked up brain?”

“Jim. Look at me.” Spock waited until Kirk faced him. All the care and concern Spock felt for his friend painted the features of his face. “We will get through this together. Lie down on the bed, and I shall perform a light meld, just to manage the headache and to remove some of your anxiety. Upsetting yourself will only worsen the situation.”

Kirk exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay.”

Fingertips tenderly touched Kirk’s face, and he relaxed into the gesture. Touching Spock’s mind left him awash with comfort, and the tension eased from him. //Rest,// Spock told him. //You need rest, I am here, all is well.//

//Oh, Spock.//

//Rest. Rest, my _T’hy’la_.//

As he drifted off to a peaceful sleep, Kirk wondered, “What is that _T’hy’la_ business?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lugs in a five-pound bar of Ghirardelli chocolate* Here, everyone, have at it!


	14. Purge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Busy, BUSY Muse!

Two weeks after the unlamented demise of Gary Mitchell, Internal Affairs Department had their evidence, statements, and computer-generated reenactment of the event. The suits were mollified; Kirk and Spock were cleared.

Now the two of them were at the hospital for checkups. Spock had had no incidents of shortness of breath for over a week. Scans taken today, plus an evaluation by a pulmonologist, would determine if he could be cleared for duty. Jim, on the other hand, was not optimistic. The Sparking events had continued, and varied greatly in intensity and length.

“I guess I’ll be medically discharged from ‘Fleet.” Spock raised an eyebrow in reply, and Kirk backed down. “Okay, okay, you’ve given me The Lecture often enough. I’m supposed to wait. I’m jumping the gun. I’m expressing needless anxiety over a situation which has yet to occur.”

“That about covers it.”

‘Detective Spock.” Doctor Geoffrey M’Benga walked over to where they were sitting, carrying a datapadd. “Everything looks great, the scans are remarkable. That Vulcan physiology does a fantastic job of regenerating new tissue.”

“Doctor.”

“I just need to send to you Pulmonology, where they will probably rubberstamp your chart and issue the ‘Return to Work’ authorization.”

“I thank you for your efficacious care, Doctor.”

M’Benga smiled. “Just stay the Hell away from pea-shooters from now on.” Then he turned to Kirk. “Ahhh, Detective. You haven’t been having a very good time of it lately, have you?”

“No.”

“I’m truly sorry. Unfortunately, we just don’t know much about Sauce and the long-term effects of a single, high dose like you got. I know Doctor McCoy was hoping the Sparking would have tapered down by now.”

Kirk shook his head, slowly. “It hasn’t.” He looked straight into M’Benga’s eyes. “I’m terrified.”

Compassion flowed from the doctor and washed over Kirk. “I would be, too. I’m sending you to the Chief of Staff for Neurology here. He’s the best, Jim, not only on Alpha Centauri, but probably in the entire quadrant. Let’s see what he has to say.”

“All right.” Kirk shrugged.

Spock’s Vulcan heart broke.

The pair first went to Pulmonology, where the staff put Spock through a modified obstacle course while his lung function and capacity were monitored. As expected, he was given the green light to resume his normal activities.

Then they made their way to Neurology. Spock walked, Kirk trudged.

After checking in, a tech came out to call Kirk. “Doctor Piper will see you now.”

“May I accompany the detective?”

“Sorry, no. If you just wait here, your partner will join you after the Doctor is finished.”

“Very well.” Spock sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs placed in medical waiting rooms all over the galaxy.

Kirk felt like he was entering the proverbial lion’s den. He wasn’t far off in his expectation. Behind a huge desk, the white-haired doctor looked intimidating.

That’s because he _was_ intimidating, damned intimidating. He scowled as he paged through the datapadd in front of him. “Detective. Sit down.”

Kirk slid gingerly into the chair across from the huge desk. He could feel his blood pressure skyrocketing.

“Hitting the Sauce, huh?”

“What? NO. I was assaulted with it.”

“Sure, sure. You cops have access to pretty much any illegal in existence.”

“I don’t use.”

“Uh-huh.”

The fear and anxiety fled, and all Kirk had in his entire body was pure anger. He stood, and got behind the chair. “What is this Inquisition? I came here for help, and you’re turning it all around. Did IAD put you up to this?”

“Spare me the righteous indignation, you’re not even doing a very good job at it. I want an honest account of the shit you do regularly. Or even occasionally.”

“Excuse me, DOCTOR, but we’re done here!” Kirk turned towards the door, and began to flay his arms, and yell. “AHHHHH, burn, burn, burn…”

Piper came around the desk and eased Kirk onto an exam table. He was surprisingly gentle, even tender, as he helped the man stretch out.

Spock burst through the door. “Jim!”

The doctor looked at the friend. “Please get a damp towel from the sink in the corner, he needs his face wiped.” Spock did as requested, and handed the towel to Piper, who sponged away the sweat from Kirk’s face and neck. Then he patted Kirk on the shoulder. “Just relax a little bit. You’re okay now.”

Kirk shot the man a bewildered look, and was answered with a smile. “Bugged the shit out of you, didn’t I? I’m sorry, I was deliberately trying to provoke an attack. If I can actually see a Sparking incident, it tells me so much more than all the scans and tests and labwork combined.” Piper turned back to Spock. “You’re his friend?”

“Yes. We’re partners, we were both attacked by the drug distributor.”

“I’ve talked to both McCoy and M’Benga. You’re the one who got hit by the pea-shooter.”

“Affirmative.”

“Blessings we have that the asshole is dead. Anyway.” He smiled down at Kirk and patted his shoulder again. “I’ll still need you to get the scans and the tests, and the labwork. I’m not expecting any great surprises there, but it’s routine followup. And I want to try something new.”

Kirk tried to sit up, “Doc, I’ll do anything to get rid of this bullshit!”

Piper pushed on Kirk’s shoulder to make him lie back down. ‘I know, I know. A new treatment protocol is being tested, CSF dialysis. It’s not pleasant, I’ll tell you that right now. It takes an inordinate amount of time, and we have to knock you out completely while it is being done, because it gives the granddaddy of all migraines to the patient. And you may need more than one treatment. But it’s the best thing we’ve got at this time to get all that crappy residue out of your brain.”

A meaningful glance passed between Kirk and Spock, then Kirk focused on the doctor’s face. “How soon can you start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll offer Canfield's diet chocolate soda over crushed ice!


	15. Out

Three days later, Spock escorted Kirk to the hospital, where he was admitted to the Neurology wing. After having his street clothes replaced with one of the indecent hospital gowns, he parked his butt on the bed in his assigned room. Spock sat on the nearby chair.

“You’ll stay until they knock me out?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll come back when they wake me up.”

“Yes, as we agreed. And you’ve given all the notifications and authorizations so I am your Point of Contact.”

“Okay, okay.” Kirk blew out a huge breath. “I’m scared shitless, Spock.”

Spock moved the chair closer to the bed, and placed his hand over Kirk’s. “I know.”

A technician came in with the cheery attitude, until Spock scowled in her direction. “Okay, got it: cancel the perky.”

“Please,” Kirk groaned.

“Just lie back, Detective, I need to set up your IV. Once it gets flowing freely, I’ll hook up the dreamland cocktail, and you’ll be out.” She moved to the side of the bed opposite Spock.

“When will the actual dialysis begin?”

“The machine is on its way up to the room as we speak.” Once she finished with the IV, she pointed to three places. “He’ll have access installed here,” she indicated the top of his head, “here,” and then pointed to the back of his neck, “and the third one will be located here,” and she placed her hand at the small of her back. “The dialysis will take twelve to fourteen hours, with repeated draws of the cerebral spinal fluid done to determine drug residue titers. Once Doctor Piper has decided he’s cleared enough for one treatment, we’ll replace the missing fluid with expander, and the access points will be epoxied shut. The IV cocktail will be continued for an additional twelve hours, then Sleeping Beauty gets to wake up.”

“He will be unconscious, then for twenty-four hours, minimum.”

“Yeah. You really won’t need to return until tomorrow morning, unless you want to come by and just watch him sleep.”

Spock looked at Kirk and raised an eyebrow. “I will determine my return time later.”

“That’s fine. We’ll take good care of him, I promise!” She injected a syringe into the IV line.

Kirk was asleep before she pulled out the needle, and he never heard Spock say, “Pleasant dreams, Jim.

# # #

He walked alone into Cyrano Jones’s business, and stood in the middle of the floor. After several minutes’ wait, Jones appeared, even more sweaty than usual. He wiped his hands with a sodden cloth..

“DS…DS…oh, Sir, you had me so worried, I heard nothing from you.”

“I was in the hospital.”

“Oh, heavens! An accident?”

“Someone tried to kill me.”

“Horrors! Well, I have your money, let me get my accounts padd…”

“Mister Jones. Allow me to introduce myself. In a way, I AM DS, although not who you assume me to be. I am Detective Spock, with Starfleet Criminal Investigation Division. This entire establishment is surrounded with officers, and I am serving you with a warrant to confiscate any and all equipment which may be used by illegal Sauce dealers. The warrant includes all floors of this building, as well as any basement, all warehouse and offsite storage, plus data on any and all orbiting servers.”

Jones looked like he was having a stroke. “My dear Sir, my dear Sir…”

“Silence. I also have a warrant for your arrest, for aiding and abetting illegal drug distribution and sales, and for good measure, I am charging you with accessory to the attempted murder of my partner and myself.”

Spock continued with the revised Miranda warning, and then said, “Hands off the comm unit in your pocket.” He called over his shoulder, “Tormin.” A woman appeared at his side. “Search him, cuff him, and get him out of my sight.”

She grabbed Jones’s wrist. “Give me a reason. All I need is the very slightest provocation or uncooperation. Please, give me a reason.”

“Miss, there’s a mistake. I need my lawyer, you’ll see, this is a misunderstanding.”

Tormin yanked the wrist behind Jones’s back. “Two cops nearly died. Oh, there’s no mistake. Just shut your goddamned mouth, you can call a lawyer, a fortune teller, or even your mommy once we reach the station, but for now, _shut the fuck up_!”

Spock watched dispassionately as cops swarmed through the building. Some began cataloging equipment and hauling it out; others went upstairs and began dragging swearing Ferengi down to the lower level. Spock simply stood and watched and occasionally nodded, until the building was completely empty, hours later.

It was dark when he got into his aircar and drove to the hospital. He headed straight for Kirk’s room, where he sat in the chair next to the bed and held Jim’s hand all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is ONE more chapter after this!
> 
> *passing around chocolate sno-caps


	16. Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the LAST CHAPTER. It's been a long, rough ride, and I appreciate all who have made it with me!

Two weeks later, Kirk was being discharged from the hospital after his second CSF dialysis. He was worn out. Doctor Piper had all but guaranteed the residuals were forever gone, and as soon as he got the clearance from the dialysis technician, he planned on dancing in the streets.

“Okay, Detective, I see your ride home is here, so we can go ahead with your discharge. Again, similar instructions as the first time you had this procedure done: bedrest for 48 hours, flat on your back, only get up to visit the bathroom, no pillows. We’ve got the holes in your head, your neck, and your backbone corked up as tight as we can get them, but it’s still going to take time for the body to heal. The expanders should do the job of replacing any missing cerebrospinal fluid, but the pressure can still be a little wonky. Follow the instructions, you’ll avoid the headache. After the 48 hours, you can walk around, watch some holovid, take a shower, be a bum for a couple of days. No activity. That means no going out, no dancing, no skydiving, no roller coasters, no sex, no fun at all. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.”

“You start dripping clear fluid from any of the access sites, call for a medivan and get your butt back to the hospital. If stuff can leak out, germs can get in, and you definitely do not want an infection.”

“I agree.”

“Sign my datapadd, then you can very gently hop into the wheelchair so Detective Spock can take you home. How’s that?”

“I’d kiss you, but I think that was on the ‘do not do’ list.”

The technician laughed. “You’re probably right. I know this hasn’t been fun, Detective, so don’t come back, okay?”

“Lady, if I never see you again, it will be too soon!”

She smiled at both Kirk and Spock. “Get out of my hospital.”

Spock transported as gently as possible, but by the time they arrived at Kirk’s apartment, Kirk was dizzy, nauseous, and felt the twinges of a headache building in his skull. “Flat in bed never sounded so good!”

“I will help you to your bed, and then bring you water. You are supposed to drink copious amounts of fluids.”

“I hope you bought some straws. I don’t want to pour everything down my neck.”

Spock pulled a three-foot length of clear plastic tubing from his pocket. “I believe this will work better than a standard drinking straw while you are flat in bed.”

Kirk tried to laugh, and ended up grabbing his head with both hands. “It’s pretty bad when even laughing is impossible to do!”

Soon, he was flat in bed. Spock came out of the bathroom with a towel, and rolled it up tightly. “You may not have any pillows, but a towel under your neck might permit you to be more comfortable.”

“Oh, you angel! That sounds wonderful!”

After helping to place the rolled towel, Spock stood back. “I will bring the water. Then would you like to read, or perhaps listen to music?”

“No, not right now. You leaving soon?”

“Jim! I am not going anywhere. I have taken a leave of absence to see you through your convalescence.”

“You can’t put your life on hold for me!”

“You are incapacitated! I will be here as long as you need me.”

“Ohboy. I’ll drink some water, and then maybe nap for a little bit, and then I guess it’s time for us to talk. It will be kind of awkward, though, since we can’t be face to face. I guess you can occupy ‘your’ side of the bed for conversation.”

The corner of Spock’s mouth quirked upward. “That would be adequate.”

Later, Spock took his place on the other side of the bed, and rolled over so he faced Kirk. He propped his head up with one hand, and waited. They tried to make small talk, but it was strained.

“Okay, how about we start with this: what is _thyla_?”

“It is a Vulcan word, an old, archaic Vulcan term, pronounced _t’hy’la_ , with two glottal stops.” Spock repeated the word, and emphasized the pronunciation. “It has a bit of a story to it.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“To be sure. Long before the time of Surak, the Vulcan people were wild, uncivilized, violent, and extremely war-centric. The Vulcan homeworld is a hostile place, and when a group of people would find an oasis, plant life, trees, shelter, they would become very possessive and risk anything to guard these assets. They were nomadic, clannish, and extremely protective of their own group members. Every little advantage that could be gleaned from either the environment or each other was guarded securely.

“Even in those ancient times, a few people showed evidence of senses beyond the normal five. There were touch telepaths, environmental telepaths, and empaths. Faint bonds would develop among the clans, and the people found these bonds were yet another asset which would contribute to survival. The bonds were valued, cherished, protected. Warriors’ lives depended upon them.

“Warmongering people also find ways to exploit advantages when it comes to making war. If these bonds were discovered in an enemy, they were sometimes twisted to use to the attackers’ advantage. Some people began to see these bonds as a vulnerability rather than an asset. They were no longer talked about, and became the stuff of myths and legends. But they still existed.

“Am I putting you to sleep, Jim?”

“No, no, you’re not. I’m very interested. You know how much I enjoy history. I’d say it was fascinating, but that word is over-used.”

Spock smacked Kirk’s legs gently with a pillow. “To continue, by the time Surak came to the forefront and spread his teachings, these warrior bonds were stories told to children at bedtime, or tales to be shared at a gathering. Logic and the control of emotions and the elimination of the need for war, for battle, for conquering became the order of the day.

“The bonds in the post-Surak society were functional, and applicable to daily living. There are parent-child bonds, student-pupil bonds, coworker bonds, and of course, the marital bond which is preceded by the betrothal bond in childhood.

“Although they are not mentioned, the warrior bonds still exist.

“The oldest, the strongest, the most revered, and the one cloaked in the most secrecy is the t’hy’la bond.

“This bond occurs spontaneously between two people. It is not created, nor granted, nor constructed. Legend has it that the bond existed before the Universe itself was formed, and it shall continue until long after the last sun has burned cold.”

Kirk looked at Spock out of the corner of his eye, since he really wasn’t supposed to turn his head completely while he was lying flat. He saw the warm look on Spock’s face.

“Yes, Jim. You and I share this bond, we have the t’hy’la bond. We have been joined together since before time itself began, and we shall be bound until long after time ceases to exist.”

“You’re _sure_ about this.”

“Yes.”

Kirk couldn’t stand it. He rolled to his side, to face Spock. “I guess I knew something was going on. You really need to know that I’m in love with you, Spock.”

“And I cherish thee, Jim.”

Kirk flopped onto his back. “Shit! It’s going to be a helluva long week!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you! Detective Kirk and Detective Spock, of Starfleet Criminal Investigation Division WILL BE BACK!
> 
> And you won't have to wait very long, either.
> 
> Chocolate roses at the door on your way out!

**Author's Note:**

> Chocolate wine! I hope to provide a fun ride to all!


End file.
